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Hopper is having a long night and he isn’t looking forward to it becoming much longer as he drives back to the Byers house, a sleeping El in the car next to him. She closed the gate and seems fine, just overworked, which he is glad about.
Right now, he just wants lay El down on a mattress and wait for Joyce to come back and know she and Will are both alright. However, life is not meant to be good for Hopper tonight, because there is a car that wasn’t there when he left pulled up to the Byers house.
A car Hopper recognizes as Billy’s.
He mentally curses and leaves El in the car so he can drive her to safety quickly should something happen as he stomps up to the house.
When he opens the door, he is met by a mess. It’s like a tornado swept through the room and the irritated thought that he shouldn’t have trusted the irresponsible Harrington boy to be in charge crosses his mind, before he sees who’s stumbling through group the kids to protect them.
Steve Harrington looks terrible, he’s swaying in place and his face is mostly bruise. In his hands i s a nail bat and he pushes the kids behind him. It takes a few slow blinks with swollen eyes before he recognized who’s standing there and lowers the bat with a soft: “Chief?”
“Yeah, kid,” Hopper says, taking a step forward as the kids come out from behind Steve. “What happened here?”
It seems that Steve isn’t really processing the question, falling back down on the couch with a loud groan, clutching his bat for easy access. He’s still scanning the room behind Hopper for danger, but he’s not listening.
Worry creeps up Hopper’s spine, surprising him. He only knows Steve from all the times he has had to break up parties at his house, parents never in sight. Yet here he is, concerned about his beat up face and the implications it had for the time he wasn’t there.
“What happened here?” he repeats, this time directed to the kids, hoping they will give them and answer where Steve can’t.
A redhead steps forwards and says: “It’s all my fault.”
Lucas immediately jumps in: “No, it isn’t, Max.”
“Yes, it is!” Max snaps back. “Billy was looking for me. I’m the reason he was here. I’m the reason you and Steve got hurt.”
It’s clear that Lucas is about to protest again, but Hopper puts an end to it, before they devolve into a full blow squabble fest. Then he gets the kids to tell him what happened tonight, eyebrows creeping higher and higher on his face as his headache increases. He doesn’t want to deal with this tonight. However, a tied up, drugged Billy in front of him, doesn’t leave him much choice.
The last thing he wants is for Joyce to come home to this, in the back of his mind he’s wondering why she isn’t here yet. He can already picture her crying over Will’s corpse, a year further and this time for real. It painfully reminds him of his own daughter, so he pushes the thought aside to focus on the Billy-issue.
Billy’s eyes are aware, but he looks paralyzed. Hopper knows that what he’s going to do is bad and he shouldn’t. However, he has other things to worry about right now and by the sounds of it Billy isn’t a guy he pities much.
So, without preamble he lifts Billy and stuffs him in the passenger side of his own car, driving a few blocks down and parking haphazardly alongside the side of the road. Then he puts Billy behind the wheel and unties him. He leans in and whispers: “In this town, this is going to be your word against mine. Be smart about what you say.”
With that done, he walks back to the Byers house and has Max make a scared phone call to the station, luckily the whole situation she’s just been through makes it easy to sell. Hopefully Billy will be picked up by his officers soon for Hopper to deal with later.
After all that, he can finally deal with Steve, still on the couch, looking worse for wear than Hopper saw when he first came in.
El is now resting on Will’s bed, Mike keeping her company, something he isn’t thinking about right now. But Lucas, Dustin and Max are still uncertainly hovering around Steve.
Steve, who is sitting upright, sure, but also slumped over. His eyes have closed and if it weren’t for the wheeze that comes from his broken nose every time he breathes, Hopper would have checked for a pulse.
He hadn’t been like that when Hopper entered, attempting to stand up again for the perceived threat, something Hopper nipped in the bud, before he could hurt himself more as he tried.
Still, the wheeze alone isn’t enough to comfort Hopper. Steve has just gotten the shit beat out of him and Hopper has seen his fair share of head injuries throughout the years. That cannot be good. In fact, it can be quite bad.
So, he squats down and shakes Steve’s shoulder, gruffly saying: “Wake up, kid. Come on, I need to ask you a few questions.”
Steve groans. A reaction is good. He doesn’t open his eyes, however. Less good.
“I don’t have all day here,” Hopper tells him, trying not to show the ever growing worry. “I need to check that you don’t have a concussion. Look up for me, come on.”
After a second of no reaction, Hopper takes it upon himself to lift Steve’s head, trying to ignore how little Steve struggles, how heavy his head feels. He takes his less swollen eye and forcefully lifts the lid, shining his flashlight into it.
It’s a comfort when Steve’s pupils shrink under the light and he flinches back from the light groaning: “Too brigh’ st’p.”
“Sorry, kid,” he says, not sorry in the slightest. “You took quite a hit. Are you feel dizzy?” A confirming groan. “Nauseous?” A noncommittal hum. “Kid? Nauseous, do you feel it?”
“Alrea’y threw u’ ea’lier, th’nk ’s gone now,” Steve manages to answer.
“Good, good,” Hopper nods to himself, feeling a little out of his dept, but not wanting to show it to the kids surrounding him, since they’ve all managed to relax slightly with a new adult in the room to take over the worrying about Steve. Not that that’s stopping them from hovering right over his shoulder.
Though, he can’t really blame the kids for that. Earlier Steve already protected most of them from the demodogs and then he protected them from Billy, before keeping them safe throughout their suicide mission in those tunnels. Hopper mentally makes a not to scold the kids about that last part later, now he lets it go along with their hovering and tries to focus on Steve.
He isn’t sure what more to ask. It’s clear that it hurts and everything he knows about concussions and head injuries slips his mind as he tries to grasp it.
Luckily, before his silence drags on so long it becomes obvious, the door opens again and he hears Joyce’s familiar gasp as she exclaims: “What happened here?”
Hopper hopes she knows more about this than he does as he turns to her, looking alive with an equally alive Will in Jonathan’s arms, and says: “Billy came after the kids and they pulled a stupid shit. Steve kept them safe, he just got hurt in the process.”
With that he leans to the side so that the others can see Steve’s lolling, injured face. Horrified, the three gasp, Jonathan subconsciously holding Will a little tighter as Nancy steps closer to the two brothers.
Joyce, however, rushes forwards in a concerned manner, cupping Steve’s cheek softly as she checks over his face.
Steve blinks heavily to try and get this new person in focus, having melted into her gentle touch after a moment of hesitation. When he finally manages, he pulls away from her, though, flinching a little as he softly says: “’M sorry ab’t your plate. Billy smas’ed it on m’head.”
He sounds so sincere about it too, like Joyce will be mad at him when Billy smashed a plate on his head .
“Jesus Christ,” Hopper rubs his forehead, immediately regretting it as Steve flinches away from him at the sound. Hopper doesn’t know if it’s because of the concussion or something bigger, but he files the action away from later.
Meanwhile Joyce reassures him in a soothing voice: “It’s okay, dear. I’m not mad about the plate.”
“You’ren’t?” Steve asks, sounding confused.
“I’m not,” Joyce confirms. “I’m more worries about you, honey.”
“You ar’?” Again that confused tone. This time Joyce and Hopper share a look and Hopper can see his own heartbreak reflected in Joyce’s eyes. Whatever is happening in that Harrington house, it can’t be very loving if Steve is this confused about people being worried for him after getting his face beat in.
“Yes, I am,” Joyce tells him, choosing to focus on his physical well being first. “Can you tell me if the lights hurt?”
“They do,” Steve confirms softly.
“Feeling fuzzy?” Joyce asks and Steve nods.
Hopper pipes up: “He said he was dizzy and he threw up earlier, but he isn’t nauseous anymore right now.”
At that point, Nancy appears behind them as well, Jonathan now gone to take care of Will while his mother is busy with Steve. She gasps again as she sees the damage from close by and with a shaky voice, she asks: “Is he okay?”
Steve doesn’t seem to notice her presence, so Joyce responds for him: “He’s not doing so hot, but he’s going to be fine, don’t worry, dear. Why don’t you go help Jonathan with the kids, get them all home safely?”
Nancy nods as the kids protest loudly at being send home, only quieting down and giving in when Steve lets out a loud groan at the sudden noise.
While Nancy gets all the kids out of the house, Hopper keeps Steve upright as Joyce goes to get an ice pack for his head and a glass of water to drink. When she gets back, it’s just the three of them in the Byers living room.
She presses the ice pack to his head, startling him. Before she can apologize, he recognizes her again and repeats: “M sorry ab’t your plate. Billy smas’ed it on m’head.”
Another stab of worry goes through Hopper at the apparent memory loss and Joyce also looks concerned as she reassures the kid again that it’s fine. A feeling that is not at all aided by the fact that Steve is confused by their care once more.
As Joyce is coaxing him to drink the water slowly, Hopper says: “We need to take him to a hospital, Joyce. This isn’t good.”
“No!” Steve yells, the most clear he has sounded all evening, even as he winces at his own volume.
“Why not?” Hopper asks, not planning to listen to the kid, but curious to his reasoning.
“I can’t sign m’self ou’,” Steve says, struggling but powering through. “Need m’ paren’s. They’re on bus’ness. ‘S import’nt. They’ll be mad if m’ shit c’mes in th’ way.”
Joyce and Hopper share another look, none of this sounds right to them. Not one thing.
“Are you sure?” Joyce asks him gently. “You’re pretty beat up. It’ll be better for a doctor to take a look at that. I’m sure your parents will be concerned when they see how hurt you are.”
A bitter laugh from Steve is the only reply to that, then he seemingly drifts off again mentally. His eyes droops and he murmurs: “’M ti’ed.”
“Sleeping is bad, right?” Hopper asks.
“He needs to be woken every hour, someone needs to ask him questions to see if his brain is still okay,” Joyce replies, shaking Steve’s shoulder and asking: “Who’s the president?”
Steve makes a discontent noise, then shrugs: “S’me dick m’dad likes.”
Hopper can’t help the snort as he says: “Reagan?”
“Yea’, ‘im,” Steve nods.
“What year is it?” Joyce asks, elbowing Hopper at his amusement of Steve’s answer.
“1984,” Steve answers. “Can I s’eep now?”
“In a little bit,” Joyce says. “I want to check if there isn’t bits of plate still in your head. Is that alright, sweetheart?”
“’ure,” Steve nods. “Sorry ab’t the plate. Billy smash’d it.”
“I know, honey, it’s okay,” Joyce tells him as she carefully goes over his head. There aren’t many pieces left, but she sends Hopper to get the tweezers and some butterfly bandages. He dutifully does, knees cracking as he gets up.
He then watches Joyce gentle remove the pieces of ceramic, wincing in sympathy whenever Steve lets out a small noise. A thing that doesn’t happen as often as it should in Hoppers opinion. It takes about fifteen minutes before she declares: “There, all done.”
“Than’s,” Steve replies, voice still sounding off both from the hit and the still broken nose.
“I can re-set your nose for you,” Hopper offers. “But it’ll hurt.”
“’S fine, I can han’le it,” Steve assures him, blinking himself awake enough to nod at Hopper to go ahead.
Hopper squats in front of him, both hands coming up until he’s framing Steve’s nose. He counts: “1, 2…” then cracks before he can say 3.
Steve lets out a loud groan and flinches away from the hurt. His hand comes up, but he stops himself before he can touch it. He repeats: “Than’s. Can I s’eep now?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Joyce smiles at him, carding a hand through his hair and getting him comfortable on the couch. “We might wake you up in a bit, though.”
Once he’s off in dreamland, something that doesn’t take long, Hopper says: “I still think we need to take him to a hospital.”
“So do I,” Joyce agrees. “But you saw that face. I don’t know how the Harringtons run a household, but I don’t want to risk it. I know that look, Hop. I’ve had that look with Lonnie. He seems fine enough to keep here for the night. If it gets worse we can always go, but until then it’s not worth getting him in trouble for.”
And Hopper hates all the implications. Hates how he came to the same conclusion. Hates his own snap judgment of the boy when he first came back now that he’s seen him like this. But he doesn’t say any of that, just sighs: “You’re right.”
With all of the craziness of the night calmed down, Joyce suddenly asks: “How’s El?”
“Resting,” Hopper answers. “Will?”
“The same,” Joyce says.
They’re both quiet for a moment, then Hopper gets up, his knees cracking again . Joyce looks at him in confusion, until she sees he’s cleaning up the mess left in the living room. Then she joins him and they clean up the house in a companionable silence as they wait for Jonathan to come back. The only eventful thing is the dead demodog in the fridge giving them quite a scare.
Jonathan doesn’t take long to return, closing the door softly with an exhaustion in his frame that marks all of them. When he spots Steve sleeping on the couch, he gives a nod in his direction and softly asks: “Is he okay?”
“We hope so,” Joyce sighs softly. “We’re keeping an eye on him for now.”
“Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?” Jonathan asks, studying Steve’s face a little closer.
“Maybe,” Joyce answers. “But he didn’t want to go.”
“Is he in a state of mind to make that decision?” Jonathan frowns.
“Kid,” Hopper cuts in. “Sometimes not asking questions is better. Not everything is meant to be shared when the person you’re interrogating has a concussion.”
Jonathan looks back, first meets Hopper’s eyes, then Joyce’s. He must see something on her face, because he suddenly nods with knowing eyes and turns back to Steve for a moment. In a brotherly gesture, he pushes the hair out of Steve’s face, then nods to himself. “I’ll watch over Will tonight,” he says. “Get some rest, mom.”
Joyce nods gratefully at him, but calls after him: “Wake me if you get tired and need a break.”
He nods, then leaves as Joyce puts the cleaning supplies down. Hopper doesn’t mind, it was more to keep their hands busy, so their minds wouldn't be.
“I’m staying up to keep an eye on Steve,” he tells her.
She repeats the words she says to Jonathan, but both know he won’t take her up on it. So, they say their goodnights and part ways.
Hopper makes himself comfortable in one of the chairs and settles in for a long night of watching Steve take wheezy breaths. His nose will be permanently crooked, Hopper has righted noses before, but it’s not an exact science. If he wants to keep it straight, he’ll have to go to the hospital to get it re-broken, but Hopper doesn’t think he’ll have changed his mind in the morning.
As the night drags on, worry fades as exhaustion sets in. Every hour he gets more coherent answers from Steve to his question, but with each hour that passes he longs to sleep more and more.
In the end, he’s dozing, though still awake despite all odds, when the first light comes in through the window. And he fully falls asleep when Joyce tells him it’s okay, that she’ll take over, unable to sleep more after everything.
When he wakes up, it’s a few hours later and El and Steve are both awkwardly sitting around the table with Joyce, both munching on a plate of breakfast. It’s an odd sight that makes Hopper chuckle, before groaning as he gets up. Fuck, he’s getting old.
The noise gathers the attention from the table and El lights up and says: “I have learned another word. Concussion. Steve has a concussion.”
Steve grimaces at her proud words, shrinking into himself a little and hiding behind the sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s a little straighter with Hoppers attention, but the sunglasses on it must still hurt.
He shakes the thought of and ruffles El’s short curls, too happy that she’s safe to be mad at her running away stunt. “Good job, kid,” he tells her. “It can be your word of the day.”
She nods with a small smile, before turning back to her breakfast, giving Hopper an opportunity to look over Steve for a moment. He isn’t really eating breakfast, more pushing the food around on his plate, looking like he should be lying down instead.
“Why aren’t you sleeping some more, kid?” Hopper asks gently, out of the corner of his eyes he sees Joyce pull a face that conveys ‘that’s what I said!’ that he ignores for the moment.
Steve gives a small shrug, not meeting anyone’s eyes and says: “I should be heading home. I’ve taken up enough time already.”
Again a bit of Hopper’s heart breaks and he wonders if he can do something, anything to the Harringtons, even if he knows that with their wealth that chance is pretty small. So, he settles for assuring Steve: “None of us mind. You went through a lot yesterday, we don’t mind looking out for you while you rest up a bit more.”
At the words Steve looks at him like he’s grown two heads, before schooling it into something nonchalant, careless. He plasters on a fake smile and replies: “Thank you, but don’t worry about it, Chief.”
“I mean it, Steve,” Hopper tells him seriously.
There’s a flicker in his mask, before Steve nods with that same stupidly fake smile that isn’t fooling Hopper in the slightest. “And so do I. I’m sure, Chief. I would like to sleep in my own bed for a little more.”
Hopper wants to fight him, but his foot down and force Steve to let them take care of him for a little bit. But Steve is nearly an adult and, as much as Hopper hates it, he has to deal with El and Will and everything else that came with covering up the Upside Down. He doesn’t have it in him to wage war against something so ingrained in Steve to hide away from.
So, he sighs and says: “Fine, but I’m driving you home and coming to check on you tomorrow. If you’re not resting and in bed, I will drag you there, are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Steve replies, turning what sounds like an instinctual response into a joke, which he only half pulls off due to the relief.
He leaves El in the care of Joyce for a little longer, ignoring how unhappy she looks at his decision to let Steve get away with this, and drives Steve home.
The car ride is quiet until they’re pulling up in front of the big empty house. Then Hopper says: “I meant it when I said we don’t mind looking out for you. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”
“I know,” Steve says softly, in a tone that screams that he very much did not know. “But my mom will be home tomorrow. She’ll make me soup.”
Hopper doesn’t believe him for a second, but lets him go anyway. Still, as he watches Steve goes, he promises to himself to keep a closer eye on the kid.
However, the Harringtons are seemingly never home for him to have a stern chat with and Steve is better at deflecting and wiggling out of conversations he doesn’t want to have when he doesn’t have a concussion. So, he doesn’t have much success there either.
And the next time it all goes to shit again and Steve gets hurt, Hopper isn’t there to help him through that first night of hurting.